


Mnemosyne's gift

by essilt, radistka



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon Het Relationship, Drama, Epistolary, F/M, Family Feels, Het, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-21
Updated: 2019-03-20
Packaged: 2019-09-24 07:16:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17096216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/essilt/pseuds/essilt, https://archiveofourown.org/users/radistka/pseuds/radistka
Summary: Fantastic Letters and what are they hiding.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This text is written with a dear co-creator, radistka, who has no account here and who is doing so much work! Plz, do not think i've done all this myself.  
> We're sorry for mistakes, english isn't our native language.
> 
> Warning! Spoilers for “Fantastic beasts: Crimes of Grindewald”.

She always loved the attic at her parents' house. It was not cluttered up, like in the houses of some of her friends, everything was laid out in order in it, everything was in its place, it was kept antiques, the memory of what was once dear to the heart and what was a pity to throw away. Hippoleta, or Leta, how parents, and cousins, and friends, and especially Grandpa, called her, liked to sit on the floor, looking at dancing motes in summer, and breathing the smell of wood and looking out the window at the starry sky in winter.

This time she made a decision at last. It was silent summer evening, the air was warm and she was alone at home. The Grandpa’s old desk attracted her for a long time, especially the one box. There was nothing secret in it, but Leta felt an excitement touching a handle. Leta understood quickly enough how it opens, Grandpa was simple in everything concerning things. Leta removed carefully from the box an old document case of well-preserved leather. It seems it was a python skin, Leta did not understand such subtleties, unlike cousin Rolf…

There were letters in the case and, Leta hoped, a diary. She remembered how Grandpa was writing something in it, and rereading, while sitting in an armchair and squinting at the sun, and she dreamed to read it someday, and to know more about her family’s past, about the time when Grandpa was at the World War First, and at the World War Second, and when he married Granny Leta, and when he was tracking down alone the most dangerous criminal of the early twentieth century… She sat down in the chair and sigh. A bit more decision.

She turned several pages and caught the fallen paper above the floor.

_"Forgive me…"_


	2. The beginning

_”Forgive me._

_I lived till thirty seven imagine no life but at war or in waiting of war, and then you came in that silk dress and in velvet shoes, and I thought that moment, it is the life, it has begun at last._

_And the time I have to protect this life I was useless._

_I have no courage to stay near, to wait the moment you open your eyes, and look at me. The collapse in France is my fault and mine only. I’m not the man whose name you’d be proud to have._

_This morning the Minister signed my resignation letter. The Ministry will appoint a new head of Auror Department. I guess there will be a lot of talk. You are not involved in this disgrace and you are free of any obligations. I will hunt G., and I must be alone._

_Oct. 1927”_

 

Hippoleta folded the note neatly and put it back in the case. Grandpa did not like to remember that time.

He missed Gellert Grindelwald at the Pere Lachaise cemetery in Paris. Granny Leta was wounded and spent a month in the hospital in Paris, then another month in the hospital in London with a concussion and burns of magical fire. Theseus saved her of the magical dragon, which destroyed the crypt of Lestranges.

Newt Scamander was banned from traveling outside of Britain once again, Tina Goldstein was deported back to the USA along with her friend, Jacob Kowalski, this time his memory was really wiped. Grandmother Quinney joned Grindelwald.

Leta sat comfortably in the chair.

 

_“If you, Theseus Scamander, thought to get rid of me by tracing a few lines on a miserable piece of paper, then you miscalculated as never before!_

_I agreed to marry you, not your precious Auror Department, and if you want to know, I agree with Newt: it's just a bunch of hypocrites! Your precious Auror Department was your biggest drawback, and if I were a Muggle, I would put a candle for it’s finally done! I agreed to marry you in my right mind and sober memory, and I don’t think this can be changed by a concussion._

_Don’t be angry at Newt cause he passed you. He just doesn’t know how to resist the Unforgivable spells._

_Oct. 1927”_

 

_“Leta! Are you out of your mind? How did you… How did you just think of applying the Unforgivable spell to Newt? You're not serious, are you?_

_Just because I was an ass and an idiot, and brought the matter to the death of all personnel, now there is no one to track you!_

_Nov. 1927”_

 

_“Of course, I’m NOT._

_You know, I can't hurt your brother. My past fault is enough to cast spells on him else. I was ready to write anything, if only you answered, but in reality I was terribly offended, because you doubted me, and I was also scared, much more than offended, because I don’t know where you are, what happened to you, who is with you, where you are going and what will happen to us, do you hear me, Theseus, to us._

_I’m alone in the hospital, I’m crying and losing my mind constantly. Newt brought me your photography. I keep it with me, I shed tears above it, sometimes I even want you to be tracked and put in Azkaban, cause this would mean I’d know where you are, although you were the best always and no one could find you for sure._

_A new head of Auror Department hasn’t been appointed yet. I know how important it was and still is for you, I know it was your life and I’m so sorry, my love, I’m so sorry. I heard that Minister Fowley was angry and furious because of this whole situation, but he didn’t take any decisive action._

_Take care, please, be careful. Promise me you will be careful._

_Love you,  
L._

_Nov. 1927”_

 

_"Forgive me. Oh, forgive me, my sweetheart, my dearest one._

_It seems to ask for your forgiveness is a habit of mine. I was terribly wrong. Everything I’ve done or said was wrong. I know you would never be able to harm Newt. I was looking at you lying in bed in the hospital and dreamed just of one thing, of you awake, and I was too cowardly to see that moment._

_You are the angel of my life. I’m extremely lucky, I don’t know why, given how idiotic sometimes I am. I allowed that G. captured you and almost killed you, I allowed Newt to be into a special operation, I lost my best colleagues and I missed the criminal. Merlin's beard, so lousy I haven't felt for a long time… I never felt, to be honest._

**Encrypted**  
_I hope you forgive me. I love you, I always will. In general, all this needs to be said on my knees, and I squander the paper again! I’m in Romania now. Here is dark, rainy and dreary, I fell on the trail of Julius Flatworthy, a descendant of the very Gideon Flatworthy who organized the anti-Magic movement in the middle of the eighteenth century. With obvious pleasure, he joined G. and, unfortunately, abandoned the “passivity policy” towards the Muggles. I think the government would be pleased by catching him._

_On the second sheet, you'll find the address of the muggle mail, it isn't tracked. For now, at least._

**Plain text**  
_I will, I promise._

_Your T._

_Dec. 1927"_


	3. Dietmar von Rötteln

While he was a head of the Auror Department, Theseus by old memory was interested in events in mainland Europe. The Great war was over and it left behind a torn and hastily rewritten political map, landscapes dug up with shells, mass graves on land and at the bottom of the sea, and Muggles learned to live in a new world just like magicians. Two worlds intersect more and more. Many wizard warriors made friends among ordinary people, and it became more difficult to keep the Statute on secrecy. Theseus maintained a correspondence with his European acquaintances, tracking the political situation and exchanging information that seemed insignificant at first glance. He understood that the German imperial ambitions did not die and it would take time for the defeated country to recover and decide on a new offensive. She needed only a mastermind, a wicker. Supporters of the idea of world domination, which Grindelwald so longed for, will achieve their goal by any means, and who will win: magicians or ordinary people, only the war, which could not be allowed, will judge.

At the end of July 1927 Theseus received the news of the death of King Ferdinand I of Romania and the unrest in the magical community and sent his intelligence agent to Bucharest.

The first report said that the king died of the effects of cancer and on July 20 of that year, the young (less than six years old) Mihai I, great-grandson of the Queen of Great Britain, Victoria, and the grandson of the deceased king came to power in the kingdom. It was difficult to even consider such a pawn on the world chess arena.

His reign took place under the leadership of the regents and in a state of growing tension inside the country and in Europe, barely recovering from the consequences of the war and looking at the incipient revival of Germany.

Theseus unobtrusively brought all the available information to the Minister of Magic Foley, but he believed that there was no point in fearing unrest in distant Romania. “These are their Eastern affairs,” he liked to say, smiling widely. He did not consider seriously the arguments that it’s the easiest way for Grindelwald]s henchmen to hide in the far corners of Europe with an unstable political situation. "Who are they all without their head!"

Grindelwald escaped in September, but Eastern affairs continued to remain Eastern, and after Paris they lost their significance.

But not for Theseus.

After the retirement, he went to get acquainted a bit closer with the European islands of instability that threatened to merge into a single belt with time, and headed for South Bukovina. At first, he almost agreed with Fowley: the country seemed calm, in Bucharest the shallow Dâmboviţa flowed sluggishly into Râul Argeș, swaying from the embankment to the embankment, and outside the capital - from one bank covered with pebbles to another ... And yet, in a warm, just little like about mid-autumn, he felt something anxious.

In November, Romanian Prime Minister Ionel Brattianu unexpectedly passed away. Doctors ascertained an infection that was rapidly developing of an acute tonsillitis. Within a few months, the country lost two prominent politicians, stabilizing Romania’s position in the political arena and protecting it from the attack of nationalists, and that could not escape the attention of other governments.

By that time, Theseus had finally decided that he needed an official, plausible reason with which he could lead a free life among the Muggles and which would open many doors for him. He refused the temptation to use the name by which he was known among them during the Great War; the events were still fresh, the people with whom he knew were alive; the rumor that reached them could turn into anything and the disclosure was the simplest one.

He constructed a plausible story, the current German economic miracle should be abundant with such stories: about dubious and not very dubious heirs of old surnames, for at least a century - so that the trail would become quite confusing and long - being abroad and now emerging from non-existence and tearing to catch good luck for the tail after the presentation of the rights to the property, which the ancestors once had owned by the second cousin who sank in wars and centuries. Even if someone doubts the reality of his papers, those who want to make money from the air are enough at all times.

Theseus was not mistaken. Dietmar von Rötteln’s sonorous name and a solid account opened in a bank with an impeccable reputation(thanks to the fat years as head of the Auror Department, it had never occurred to him what wealth they would bring in terms of Muggle money), these very willing people flew off like flies on honey. Theseus was cautious. He imagined how Leta would have done deals: he lacked her business acumen and ability to sift out the superfluous, her Slytherin resourcefulness and talent for miscalculation of moves. Sometimes he consulted with her mentally.

He did not show any rights to the land and the Castle Rötteln and modestly asked for a lease: he was allegedly interested in a feral vineyard in the south-western mountains, the slopes of which, he hoped, would eventually transform and flourish.

“You, Rötteln, have gone mad,” one of the hypothetical partners stated bluntly and released an indispensable cloud of smoke. Theseus - in half out of politeness and calm superiority – began to smoke too. “Nothing will come of it. In order for a garden to bloom on these stones, which would also bring income, you will need a dozen years – and even then there are no guarantees!”

Such a beginning usually led to the proposals of new adventures and the transformation of hypothetical partners into hopeless ones. Theseus needed the Castle Rötteln's as an air: dilapidated and close to turning into ruins, for an ordinary eye, it was a real magical bastion, fortified so that it could withstand a year of siege. Among the Muggles, it was rumored that on special days at dawn, old towers could be seen disappearing after sunrise. Theseus learned about the Asylum during the Great War. By tacit agreement, after the dynasty of von Rötteln was interrupted, and the last representative, a woman, moved with her husband to the coast of the Baltic Sea, and the castle was used for meetings by the magicians of European countries. However, when during the Thirty-Years War the buildings were subject to mass destruction, the magicians stopped meeting there, information about it was lost, and the castle continued to gradually collapse, protective spells decay. With the joint efforts of several Auror Departments, the castle was partially restored, retaining its anonymity from people. The castle was located far from the place that caused Theseus interest, but closer to the main events. In addition, the equipment and portals had an amazing property to hide distances.

So he stopped in Lerrach and waited.

One morning, a note was sent for him at the hotel: it contained the meeting place and the time.

An old but firm man was waiting at the open veranda in the cafe opposite. He looked like a real rural hard worker and was dressed soundly and simply. They ordered two cups of strong coffee. The man introduced himself: Hans Meyer. The name was unremarkable. He behaved free, but respectfully, and immediately started talking about the case: you showed up at the right time, just in time for the autumn pruning of trees, of course, it’ll be no harvest for the next summer, except for a bottle or two of wine, just for teasing what fat cats at dinner, not more, but a year later, remember the word, the harvest will be excellent, I vouch for it... Sometimes he cleared his throat and took a sip of coffee, carefully took wide crooked fingers on the thin handle of the coffee cup.

Theseus listened attentively and intently examined the interlocutor.

“Why did you come to me?”

“Because I am the one you need, Herr Rötteln.”

“Who do I need?”

“Winegrower,” answered Hans Meyer dryly, “who knows how to wiz.”

They exchanged long glances and silently shook their hands.

***

In December 1927, Leta Lestrange returned to work at the Ministry of Magic in the department of magical law and order under the leadership of Torquill Trevers and fully immersed in the work, collecting the information needed by Theseus.

She got a lot of sympathy and a huge portion of whispering behind her back. Someone said that Theseus left her because of her burned body, someone gloated that he had bored her and his resignation was a reason to run away with “that American woman” who probably preached free love. Someone’s sympathy was true; someone was really upset with the situation around the young head of the Auror Department and his fiancée, as well as his brother, who was subjected to house arrest. Leta tried not to appear too often at Newt's house, but she knew that he kept in touch with his brother, as well as to Professor Dumbledore. Dumbledore was more cunning and shrewd than everyone suspected, and Leta did not understand whether he could really be trusted, which meant trusting Theseus’ life to him. But Newt trusted Dumbledore, so then she had to be silent even with Newt.

_"My love._

_Merry Christmas and Happy New Year. I hope where you are, is safe enough, and you can celebrate._

_Don’t know what else to say. I miss you so much. I see dreams of you, and that makes me miss even more. Sometimes my dreams start like nightmares, but I don’t see a drowning child anymore. Probably, I finally took all the blame for the death of my brother - or I paid for it, call it what you wish. But it seems, I have a new boggart: a cemetery on fire, the smell of burning flesh and a crumbling stone, the cries of the dying and the dragons’ growl. Dragons appear so often, they all try to drag me into darkness, but then you appear and they retreat. They always leave when you come._

_Most often, the sleep is interrupted on this, but sometimes, sometimes it lasts longer, and there we are together with you... only we. We make love, and I wake up gasping. I love you, I want you, I want to see you at least. Sometimes I visit your family, it all seems to me that if I see Newt, in a sense I will see you, but he doesn’t look like you to hurt. Poor Newt. He doesn’t understand why I’m angry with him every time, but I can’t explain. As always, I can’t explain how I feel._

_Will I see you? I hope so. If possible, please._

_With love, L._

_December 25, 1927_

_**Encrypted** _

_“I hope all my letters will eventually find you. Writing to this post is not so convenient, unusual, but I believe that they will reach. Although I still do not quite understand what can be written openly and what is not worth it._

_Fowley appointed Elfried Urhart as head of the Auror Department. You’ve told me something about him, I don’t remember what exactly, but it was something funny. His son recently turned five. Sweet boy, I saw his photography at Urhart’s table. Someday you and I will also have a son (and not one). Don't even argue. I believe in it, and do not dare to dissuade me._

_Fowley also released all those you detained after the incident at the cemetery due to "lack of evidence of involvement in the atrocities of the wanted criminal G.G." He's just an idiot, to be honest. He either does not understand, or does not want to understand the danger emanating from G. If only he’d heard that speech... The ministry is still listening to him, but if G. starts to fulfill his threats, Fowley will not be able to keep his chair. What I sincerely wish him. You and I will still drink to his disgraceful resignation."_

 

_“Finally I got your letters, honey._

_I repent that I forgot to wait for them and could not write before. My business has gone too far and takes all my time, so I barely have time to take a nap. Everyone rushes for easy money here, but there are opinions that the economic miracle does not last long: everyone forefeel (and some people foretaste) the evil, but few dare to voice suspicions. And nevertheless I will try to drop into the last car of the departing train._

_Belatedly congratulations on all the holidays. I hope they passed calmly and joyfully, and Newt's sniffs did not steal your jewelery. How are they, my brother and mom? Do not be angry at poor Newt, it is so hard for him to be my brother._

_Great Merlin, this is the loneliest Christmas in my life. Here is snowing, the forest is gloomy, and people are laconic. However, if they were talkative, I would have three times more difficult. Nowadays the most difficult is, it is not enough sun here. This feeling is rather strange for a person who grew up in a country where is almost no sun; I could write that I miss you, but these words convey nothing._

_Just one question. Are you still going to marry me? I could offer you little before, and now you will not gain anything at all, rather, you will lose a lot. Our wedding was scheduled for 6 June. It will take place if you say Yes. I'll arrange everything._

_Always yours, T._

_P.S. I often remember the evening of our "first" meeting and do not get tired to thank your father. That was his best plan._

_February 1928_

_**Encrypted** _

_“Thanks for the info about Fowley. I do not understand this person. Reports from France, memories of witnesses should have been enough to start a full-scale search operation for G. I suspect that G. is hiding in the Alps, where it is easier for him to spread influence to nearby states, and his love for the mountains should have remained after his studies in Durmstrang._

_I found Flatworthy, now he is hiding in the southern part of Bukovina and communicating with his friends, but at any moment he may disappear. They formed the so-called "Order of the Dragon." For my taste, too pretentious and dangerous. They are already beginning to put pressure on ordinary magicians, inciting to overthrow the government. If I take Flatworthy, then with his help I will find out something about G., I am almost sure that he is aware of G.’s affairs, even if he is not close to a person. This is a good start._

_Try to talk to Trevers. He has more intelligence than F. And try to encrypt everything that concerns our difference from Muggles. I will try too."_


	4. The Corvus IV Lestrange's cunning plan

It was oddly, but they met again at the ball. Mr. Scamander and Miss Lestrange were invited to the annual Christmas Ball at the Ministry of Magic and, of course, separately.

Theseus led the Auror Department in 1925: the war hero, who was one of the first to go against the emergency legislation of Minister Archer Evermond. He returned from the mainland at the end of 1918, started from scratch under the guidance of Torquill Trevers and literally took off on the career ladder. The position and aura of heroism made his Irish appearance much more attractive in the eyes of the majority of free girls for betrothal, but Theseus was equally formally amiable with all of them. It was rumored that his heart was broken.

Leta Lestrange was a Hogwarts graduate, as well as Theseus. She once was friend to his younger brother Newt - and even for a couple of years she imagined she was in love, or maybe Newt imagined that for himself and for herself. Once she spent the whole summer at the Scamanders: communicated with the whole family and enthusiastically watched the hippogriffs. Theseus had often heard about her before: Leta Lestrange was at the tip of the tongue of a non-talkative Newt. Although the circumstances of the very first meeting could hardly have passed for auspicious, when Newt was expelled from Hogwarts, and his older brother had to push thresholds in the pose of the petitioner. Theseus never thought that he would communicate with this girl seriously. He was almost ten years older, she was from a different social circle. He went to war early, she continued her studies, learning how to do magical sciences as Muggle ones, and this was what later allowed her to work in the ministry, and not her father’s money, as many thought. Of course, they happened to cross at Trevers' department, but hardly all of these meetings could have passed for the renewal of acquaintance.

Theseus went to the reception without much inspiration: on the Christmas eve, Mrs. Scamander (Ma, as her sons called her among themselves) depressed by the blatant celibacy of both, in turn brought down her bad mood for a hopeless future, a lonely old age and other mischief from the day they were born. Newt crawled into himself, as if in a sink, and silently suffered, Theseus languidly dissuaded as just as languidly threatened not to come next Christmas, if these conversations did not stop. But Ma, having read the gossip in the Daily Prophet, where were only notes about beautiful lonely young women, went to storm with the determination of a soldier who had no other maneuvers left and who ignored the threat - especially since they never were performed.

"Do not roll your eyes, Theseus Scamander!" She always called children only by their full name being in anger. “You're worse than brother. You're almost forty. Almost forty, Theseus! Soon you will have no chance! You can expect only a twice-divorced woman or a widow with children from previous marriages!"

"Mom, are you sure that this is a suitable conversation before the ball?"

"This is always a suitable conversation!" She pursed her lips. "Theseus, I can not live forever, who will take care of you twenty years later? You think it'd be your brother who can't even take care of himself?"

Theseus thoughtfully considered a tuxedo.

“Mom, in the name of Merlin, I and Newt live our own lives a long time ago, and if I need a nurse one day — although I hope I won't get to such misery — I will just hire her. Marriage, as far as I know, is not for this."

“Of course not,” she snapped back, catching a subtle subtext. She paused and called on the other side: "Soon I will be too old to raise my grandchildren..."

"Grandchildren are for joy, mom. For everything else, you can hire a nanny."

"What can you know about this!" She let a little tragedy into her voice, and then got angry: "You measure everything with money, Theseus. Gathered all this of Muggles."

“Mom, money is convenient, after all, why not use it,” Theseus shrugged his shoulders, took the fresh issue of the Prophet from the table. "Well, and who do you offer me as a bride? Let's go through the list. The first in it turned eighteen last spring, and I, as you kindly and fairly reminded me, am almost forty..."

Mother snatched the newspaper out of his hands and threw into a corner.

"Don't clown around! You might think that there are no brides outside of this list!" Now the drowning man’s prayer sounded in her tone distinctly: “You had that girl in France... Why not marry her!"

"I am sure there is, but my work does not allow to communicate with them. With that girl, as you call her, there was a relationship that did not include the concept of marriage." He didn’t lift an eyebrow when his mother portrayed something between indignation and embarrassment, and ruthlessly added: “In the name of Merlin, mother, that time there wasn’t any relationship to marriage."

"So, you must work less!"

“And a woman who has worked all her life tells me this,” Theseus could not refrain from an ironic smile.

"It did not stop me from having two children!"

Theseus took a deep breath and folded his arms across his chest. Poor Newt is probably listening to all this.

"I do not argue." He tried to go on another truce, letting a little sincerity into the conversation: "I just didn’t meet a woman I don’t want to let go. And who'd endure me. No one likes redheads."

“Well, that is, we are to blame with your father, it was us who gave birth to you the redheads,” said Mrs. Scamander’s voice with a harsh note hinting at humility, and Theseus embraced her.

"Do not worry. If Newt and I are lucky, you will have daughters-in-law and grandchildren. You will grumble when they will overrun the house and climb where they don’t ask..."

"I will not live till that moment with such sons!"

Mrs. Scamander said this loudly enough for Newt to hear every word too.

***

Leta Lestrange was preparing to the ball alone. She received strict instructions from her father. Everything about her rebelled at the thought of what these instructions were about, but her tongue did not turn around to say "no". Corvus IV Lestrange had enough of a glance so that all the Leta's rebellious nature, who did not let anyone in Hogwarts descend, would wilt and freeze. The secret, shameful fault, about which it was impossible to make and sound, immobilized her and the overwilling glance smeared Leta at the feet of the father with a thin layer. You want to earn my trust, said this glance, you need my forgiveness, you should try and be a good girl, then I will approve of you - and Leta mentally replied: "Yes, Dad." Her father's authority was still indisputable for her.

She gathered her hair in a neat strict knot and stabbed her with sharp raven feathers. A black silk dress with a train and straps crossed at the back, studded with glass beads and sequins, was put on right on a naked body. Black velvet shoes on a tall thin heels, walking on will be almost an art. Her favorite silver snake with emerald eyes wrapped around her arm, from shoulder to wrist. The jewelry belonged to her mother - in fact, it was the only thing which Leta inherited by her mother.

***

She was late for the official start of the celebration and appeared in the ballroom when the performance had began and the frail ballerina, making the pas in her flying white robe, let go of the shawl into the air - but the performance did not interest Leta, she only looked ahead.

And it was Theseus Scamander ahead. Her Aim. Of course, they were familiar and although they didn’t really communicate for many years, moreover, Theseus was the first after precious animals that Newt could talk about incessantly: he found a thousand and one more reason to be angry with his older brother and to condemn him - and desperately admired him. So Leta, unwittingly, knew about Theseus Scamander much more than it was decently to know a young girl about a man almost ten years older; and since Newt Scamander was her the very best, the most intimate — and the only — friend, she involuntarily took from him an explosive mixture of condemnation and admiration for Theseus. They were even lucky enough to spend the whole pre-war summer together, when Mrs. Scamander invited her younger son's girlfriend to stay with them on holidays. Theseus was tall, scrawny, red-haired, freckled, just like Newt, wore a canvas shirt with rolled up sleeves and pants with suspenders, preferred to tinker with the rod and fishing line without the aid of spells, and he had an unusually ordinary girl. Nothing foreshadowed the hero of Arras, Messina, and Amiens.

 

Theseus was at the other end of the ballroom and noticed immediately the excitement among the guests and his reason. Silk dress to the floor, flowing gait, dark skin with an olive tinge. Densely dilated eyes with languishing and barely touched lipstick lips. At first it seemed to him that she was looking for someone, then - that it was him with Leta Lestrange met her eyes. Not for long: just a moment or two. He was amazed how lonely she seemed. Theseus did not follow her life intentionally, but he read the issues of the Daily Prophet, where were often published articles about her and all the enviable brides of the wizarding world, including Leta Lestrange, who, even crossing her twenty-five year line, did not lose ground in the top ten. He was even interested, because Leta occupied a considerable place in Newt's life - until the number of her supposed suitors reached ten. Then Theseus just stopped looking through the column about the secular life of the magical community.

She seemed relieved to see an old acquaintance.

They met with their eyes every now and then, until the performance was over, then the crowd separated them. Theseus was distracted by the conversation Minister of Magic Fowley, Leta was pulled aside by familiar witches from pureblood families. It took a good quarter of an hour and a lot of tricks and tiny steps in the direction of the Aim, before Theseus and Leta finally found themselves face to face.

“Oh, Miss Lestrange!” greeted Fowley. "How are you tonight? Do you enjoy the show?"

“This is a wonderful evening, Minister,” Leta gave Fowley a hand for the duty of the kiss and turned her gaze to his companion, nodding in recognition. Theseus tilted his head in response.

“Miss Lestrange, I regret that your father could not attend our Christmas party, but I am glad that you decorated it with your presence. Of course, you are familiar with our heroic Head Auror, Theseus Scamander, but it will not be superfluous to introduce you to each other again. Theseus, this is Leta Lestrange, the daughter of a respected friend of the Ministry."

Leta smiled radiantly.

"My father was very sorry that he could not attend, and asked me to convey to you wishes of well-being and remind you of the return visit, which was previously promised. Mr. Scamander, glad to meet you again," she gave a hand to Theseus.

How tall is he! She forgot. Or maybe in childhood it is natural that everything around is much higher. Leta had to throw her head back to look at Theseus' eyes, but he easily relieved her of the inconvenience, leaned in the old-fashioned way to kiss his hand, and did not raise it to his lips, as almost all men now did, trying to get rid of conventions.

"Mutually, Miss Lestrange."

She was so busy thinking about his height that she didn’t have time to think about his voice. Theseus detained her hand in his not longer than decency required, but Fowley did not allow the conversation to develop.

"Yes, yes, Miss Lestrange, I will definitely return the visit, would you like to accompany me and see our program?"

Leta had no choice but to agree. She wouldn't to refuse the Minister with whom her father was friends, although at that moment she wanted to stay and speak with a completely different person. Theseus was forced to accompany the wife of the Minister, a strict fair-haired lady who set off her bright charismatic husband.

The program of the evening included several more dances and a magician's nice performance, combined with drinks and light snacks. Leta was next to the Minister, realizing that Theseus Scamander was standing behind her. Directly behind. Touch me, she mentally repeated, touch me - until she realized that it was not an order, but a request. She really wanted to know how Theseus Scamander touches a woman, appreciate what is waiting for her, check with her skin whether all this chatter about a broken heart is true - although she already senses: not true... She even shifted her shoulder blades, almost feeling his fingers glide on her back. When white snow, so similar to the real one, began to fall from above and began to turn into flowers right in the air, she turned around and saw an asphodel flower in Theseus’s hands. Strong hint! Guessing how far the Head Auror could be suspected of indecency, Leta turned away as soon as she caught his return glance, and spoke to the Minister about something unimportant.

During the reception, her friends surrounded her again, without giving a minute of peace. Conversations, on-duty smiles, fake wishes of well-being, gossip, invitations to spend the weekend at someone’s estate or in the mountains, or at the springs. “And let's flight to Bulgaria!”, “Yes, yes, it’s very good there now, snow, they say, piled up, you can ski. I like to descend from the springboard "and so on and so forth. Her head ached so much that, after apologizing, Leta moved away, pretending to have a snack. She would not be reproached: the appetizers were excellent, to match the champagne. In the absence of a good cook, the current minister could not be blamed.

“Persephone plucked the asphodel flower, and the firmament of the earth opened up before her, from which the four dark as the night of horses escaped, and the underworld king Hades ruled it..."

She shuddered, turned around - and came under the spell of Theseus Scamander's smile. And, oh Merlin and the Holy God, this growth...

"Sorry, seems to me I've scared you."

"Don't worry, Mr. Scamander, I'm just surprised. Do you like ancient myths and legends? Or do you want to put my vigilance down?" hinting at the most innocuous name, Leta pointed at the flower.

Theseus laughed, and the asphodel disappeared.

“My job is, these myths not to become a reality, Miss Lestrange.”

“I hope that today you are not here to work, Mr. Scamander,” Leta smiled and took a sip of champagne. Her head was spinning slightly.

"No, today I intend to rest. Do you like ancient myths and legends?"

“Some ...” She paused, trying to get at least one suitable memory out of her: “I remembered, in my youth, I was amused by the legend that one hero went down to Hades and unsuccessfully sat down on the wrong chair. We often laughed at this with Newt."

Theseus grinned, apparently realizing what kind of legend it was. Newt once said that his brother in school was also teased by the misadventures of the great Greek hero, not always successfully, which, of course, was reflected in the number of points of his faculty.

Taking a sip of whiskey, Theseus leaned toward Leta a little closer.

“I argue that it was Newt who told you this Athenian gossip, it will be from him. And I'm not at all surprised, considering how my brother likes to laugh."

"How is he?" Leta did not retreat, only elegantly intercepted canapés from a passing by tray.

"He returns from his long journey soon. I think it will linger for a while in our area."

Damn well with his height sits a tuxedo, that's what, Leta thought - or champagne helped her think so. Newt wouldn't ever be dressed like this - noone would ever have a chance to rake him out of his beloved coat.

“Does Newt still love his outlandish animals?” Leta smiled, recalling the scary care of Scamander Jr. about his strange, but in her own way beautiful pets. “Does your mother still breed hippogriffs?”

“Yes, to both questions,” Theseus finally smiled sincerely, making his face completely transformed. Leta did not expect that his smile would make such a strong impression on her. "Newt is collecting material for his book, which he has been writing for many years, and mother is waiting for him to show another brood. And to persuade to find a more rewarding occupation..."

Talking about Newt awakened a cat named Feeling of Guilt from a lethargic sleep, and before she began to sharpen her claws about her soul, Leta changed the subject.

"Mr. Scamander, I spent a wonderful summer in your house, I still remember with tenderness."

In the eyes of Theseus it was clear that these memories are shared.

“You had lovely curls, Miss Lestrange.”

“I hated them,” Leta portrayed disgust, “and with pleasure got rid of them!”

"It does not matter. They were all the same cute."

"You are really pushing me to return them!"

“I never thought that my opinion is so important,” he smiled again, and Leta had to take a sip of champagne, because having her throat tight.

 

The snake on her hand raised her head sometimes or took a more comfortable position, so as not to interfere with the freedom of the hostess's gestures. A catchy, massive jewelry, which, perhaps, would have gone as clothes. Not the most decent thought, but war wiped out the tinsel of propriety in the first place.

"Will I survive the bite of your beast, Miss Lestrange?”

She was surprised - hard to say, feigned or sincere - and opened her dark eyes.

"What beast, Mr. Scamander?"

“This one,” Theseus stroked one of the metal rings with which the serpent wrapped Leta’s shoulder with his index finger.

The snake did not move. Leta traced the movement with her gaze.

"Oh!" She slightly raised her hand. “She doesn't bite... unless I ask.”

“Warned is armed,” said Theseus in a philosophical tone. "I will try not to give you a reason."

Between her beautiful full lips flashed dazzling teeth.

“I don’t think I’d let her harm you.”

“You still haven't say whether her bite is deadly, Miss Lestrange.”

"Let the answer remain secret."

“Well,” Theseus spread his hands, “I hope that in the extreme case I won't have time to understand anything!”

"We'll see, Mr. Scamander." - Leta brought the glass of champagne to her lips again, and Theseus felt a sudden — and as clear as day — temptation to kiss her. Snake lifted her head from the hostess's wrist and winked.

Damn French women, Theseus swore to himself, no one else can so cleverly put all these women's tricks into which it is so nice to get caught.

"Is your beast trying to tell me something?"

Leta frowned severely, noticing snake's maneuvers, and she peacefully settled down, becoming just an jewelry again.

“She likes you, Mr. Scamander.”

He thought that this could be a family joke of the year: the snake-bride. Why not, in the end, the Muggle fairy tale about the Frog Prince wanders around.

"Does she have a name?"

Leta drank some more champagne, and Theseus remembered of his whiskey.

"I suggest you come up with it."

“I’m not as good at handling animals as my brother, Miss Lestrange.” He grinned. "I can not guess."

"It's just a name, Mr. Scamander." For a moment, she opened her eyes wide. Then the dark eyelashes sank again, Leta moved to him at a small step and stood up on her toes to quietly add: “You will not do anything terrible if you give it.”

Her smell was so close: an unobtrusive smell, reminiscent of languor, which comes during the summer heat, with a slightly bitter cocoa mixture. There was an eternity between the girl with pretty curls, who was visiting Scamanders' house, and an exquisite young woman at the ministerial Christmas celebration.

Some excitement passed behind their backs; the official part must have come to an end. Leta retreated to a small step. The thought that he wanted her was as clear as the thought of a kiss, but not at all sudden.

Theseus reached out to stroke the snake again.

"I'm lost. Ago? Aminta?"

"Ago," Leta thoughtfully held out “o”. - "I like it."

"And your beast?"

The snake lifted her head, shook her, and winked again, twisting around Leta's wrist.

"She flirts with me, Miss Lestrange?"

“I don’t see anything wrong, Mr. Scamander,” Leta laughed. The official tone has finally turned into a playful one. "I think many women in this ballroom would like to flirt with you."

Theseus spread his hands.

"Today they have no chance against your beast."

"It flatters her..."

Damn French women, Theseus thought again, damn French women, eternal punishment to the British for the Hundred Years War.

"And you?"

They met looks. Leta bit her lower lip - rather instinctively.

“I am a simple woman, Mr. Scamander, of flesh and blood.”

Theseus paused, looking for an answer.

"Is your beast jealous?"

“I didn't notice.”

The conversation became extremely ambiguous, the available reserve of the ability to flirt was exhausted, and in the large ballroom the invisible musicians played the fashionable Muggle Quictime Foxtrot and Charleston, and Theseus leaned old-fashioned to kiss Leta's hand again.

“Then she won't mind if I invite you to dance.”

That was a statement.

"Of course, Mr. Scamander."

"But I warn you that I am not very strong in this."

"Do not worry, I will teach you."

He tried to focus on something less provocative than, damned all the French women, she has no underwear, not even the thinnest bottom shirt, it was enough to put an arm around her waist to realize it. On how small she was: even on heels, Leta barely reached out to the top of his shoulder. On how gentle her fingers, decorated with elegant rings, are golden-brown, soft. On an unusually chiselled jaw line, especially noticeable when Leta slightly tilts her head to the side. On how softly she slips in the dance and imperceptibly guides not the most skilled partner.

On the fact that he did not want to let her go.

 

His smile made her heart beat faster, and Leta tried not to think about it. As for “not very strong”, Theseus Scamander, perhaps, lied: he did not stepped on her legs, he caught all her unobtrusive clues, and they had never encountered neighboring pairs.

“I've heard you were at the war, Mr. Scamander,” Leta spoke in a surprisingly calm voice, although she had almost been shaking with emotion. "What was it like?"

"I would not like to talk about it now, Miss Lestrange, I do not want to spoil the evening. Let's just say war is not an easy walk."

Someday he will tell her everything. For some reason, Leta had no doubt that this time would come. Or the champagne did not doubt - it does not matter.

“And you have scars?” Typical female curiosity pushed her to such an intimate question.

“Yes, Miss Lestrange, I have scars.”

"Will you show me them?"

Theseus did not answer, squeezed her fingers harder and put it on his shoulder, pressed with his palm. Then pulled her closer. The flashes of the wizarding photographers flickered around, and Leta thought that their pictures would be in all the columns of secular news in the morning, but she didn’t care.

By the end of the first dance, Leta understood that her father’s plan went to dust, as her own. They spoke with Theseus less and less often and over the last quarter of an hour they exchanged well if a dozen phrases. It is strange that after all the talk this evening it was so pleasant to just be silent. The third and fifth dances followed the second dance, the score lost its meaning. One of them will certainly end with the fact that they just cling to each other and will be just stay so close. Is that so easy?

"Can I take you home?" Theseus asked when the evening was almost over.

“Of course, Mr. Scamander,” she smiled, letting him put a mantle on her shoulders. Theseus himself ignored the rules and wore a coat of Muggle cut. They left together and, after passing a sufficient distance to the required point, transgressing near the pompous London house of the Lestrange family, where they always moved into the season.

Her father went away on business to the estate, leaving Leta alone to carry out his plan, which had already become her own.

“Do you want to come in, Mr. Scamander, drink some more whiskey? Father has a Muggle collection." Leta turned to Theseus, who was ready to say goodbye.

“With pleasure, Miss Lestrange.”

In the hall, Theseus helped her to take off her mantle, and left his coat and hat on a hanger. The house was quiet, dark and almost empty. The maids, probably, had already gone to bed, the house elves hid — not surprisingly, it was already past midnight, she noted. There was no dream in one eye. She lit a fire in the fireplace, a gleam played on Theseus' brown hair. He waited. Remembering the excuse that lured him here, Leta gestured to his father's study, opened a cupboard lined with pot-bellied bottles, and glanced absently at them.

"What kind of whiskey do you prefer, Mr. Scamander?"

“Miss Lestrange, I prefer not a whiskey.”

The next question literally hung in the air. Leta froze for a second and walked slowly toward Theseus. He waited, but Leta could not escape from his gaze. She raised her hands, buried her fingers in Theseus' hair, crumpled, ruffled, smeared with briolin's hands.

“I wanted to do this all evening,” she whispered, smiling at his bewilderment, “I dreamed of seeing them free.”

"And I wanted this all the evening," Theseus pulled her to him and kissed her.

Then everything happened instantly. In a split second. They kissed, as long as the air was enough, fumbled with their palms on their clothes impatiently, kissed again. Not here, she whispered, and he nodded automatically, of course, not here, though whom to peep; the thin straps of her dress, studded with glass beads, were the most important threat, because hell-take-it-easier-tear. Leta laughed silently, bared long and even teeth, whispered that the dress was worth a fortune; Theseus, close to despair, was looking for a secret "lightning", loops, buttons, and finally, gritting his teeth, he said - no more than the salary of the Head Auror. Leta laughed again and finally relented, sent his fingers to some intricate clasps, disguised by the same glass and sequins; one movement - and the dress was gone. And under it, indeed, there was only naked Leta, as smooth and soft as silk, which rolled from her as a black wave onto the carpet, and she remained standing - the continuation of this wave, dark, olive, golden, with a neat chest, a clear-cut waist and tough hips. She took her feet out of her shoes, and gracefully descended onto the carpet, as she came down from the platform, and turned out to be unexpectedly even smaller than Theseus thought. The snake flowed down from her hand, curled over the dress peacefully and covered her emerald eyes, Leta stood up on her socks for a new kiss. Her palms stained with bryoline had already spoiled the tuxedo, bow tie, vest and ruthlessly took hold of the shirt; not here, for the sake of Merlin, she repeated, there is bedroom, and Theseus hoarsely demanded: show. The dress and the tuxedo were left lying on the carpet, woven like lovers, Leta found herself in Theseus' hands, prompted the way into his ear: up, to the right, straight, the door, the next door... not the door in that sense... The handle clicked, they burst into the bedroom, dropped something on the way, Leta gasped, and they began to undress again. The shirt went to the floor, Leta took up the satin belt, then the buttons on the pants, brisk experienced fingers fluttered from one to the other...

“By all the rules, Mr. Scamander,” she purred fiercely, and Theseus sealed her mouth with a kiss, interrupting conversations and spurring on actions.

They stumbled in the dark, collapsed on the bed awkwardly, Leta gasped again; pulled Theseus to herself, let out a low, hungry moan when he thrusted into her, she wrapped her legs around his waist, eagerly moved her hips to meet, felt his back from the loins to the shoulder blades, every vertebra and every rib... Her tongue touched his cheek. The rhythm of the movements - towards, away and towards again - became more harmonious and stronger. The groans became a bit less hungry - it seemed so.

***

 

The snow outside the window poured more, caught the light of the lanterns outside the window, threw a small scattering of reflected light into the windows. Leta threw off the blanket when Theseus tried to cover her. She was not cold at all: burning maternal blood, even diluted by the British aristocratic, glacial, remained hot enough to warm the naked body inside. Darkness hid her, transformed her dark skin into ebony-black; Theseus did not trust his eyes - tactile memory covered many times more. And was more receptive. More precisely. All this time, there were a thin stockings on Leta; by touch they did not differ at all from her skin, it is not surprising that they went unnoticed. One garter dissolved, stocking moved to the middle of the leg. Theseus pulled him down, lay down at the foot of the bed, untied the satin ribbon, and pulled off the second, held his bare foot in his palm, stroked his ankle.

Leta giggled, wiggled her fingers.

“Ticklish,” she explained in a whisper when Theseus looked at her. "Accio wand..."

“No, that doesn't work like that,” he grinned.

"It works!" She made an angry growl. "You hinder me to concentrate!"

"On what?"

Leta did not answer. Her hairstyle was hopelessly ruined, and Theseus idly pulled the rest of the feathers out of the hair. He spread the strands on the pillows, buried his face in it. At the roots, her hair was slightly damp from sweat and smelled of not expensive perfumes or rubbing, they smelled... just as Leta, as she smells, probably after a bath. Or now, in bed.

Her wand swam into the room: a little uncertain, as if it was also blind in the dark. Then it became clear that they did not even bother to close the door when they burst into the bedroom.

“Lumos,” Leta said.

The light was faint, a little golden, warm; everything that Leta touched became warm.

“You agreed to show me your scars, Mr. Scamander.”

He grunted and fell on his back, spread his arms. Leta’s wand absentmindedly levitated in the air, while Leta herself, sitting on her heels and biting her lip with zeal, examined his body.

"Where does this one come from?" She poked at the round scar under the collarbone.

"From Amiens." Theseus stroked her knee, raised his palm higher. This was the best of all in appearance and in touch: an exciting, carved transition from hip to waist, steep, like that of an amphora, a drop from wide to narrow. "This latest bullet went diagonally, pierced a lung ... I was lucky to be right through. I stayed in the hospital for about two months or so, and then I was commissioned."

"Right through? Is the same on the back?"

Theseus nodded. Letha opened her eyes wide. Her initial playfulness diminished.

"And this one?" Her fingers held across a wide long scar, which crossed the right side and stretched under the shoulder blade.

"I do not remember. One of the first operations. She was so-so prepared. We ran out of bullets, and the bayonets and sabers went into action."

“Why didn't you ask the healers to remove?”

"It's not face." Theseus stretched and yawned.

He simplified intentionally the behavior and tone of the terrible thing he was talking about.

Leta bit her lip again. The next scar was under the ribs on the left side: uneven, ugly, as if a hook were being pulled under the skin, which fish were caught. She vaguely guessed that she left such traces.

"And this one?" Her fingers flinch when touched.

“And this one I got during the Hundred-Day Offensive. I ran into a wizard... I had to fight in a more familiar way."

“Did you carry a wand with you in battle?”

"Yeah. Behind the boot, instead of a knife. I even used it once... instead of a knife."

They met looks.

"You killed him?" Leta's voice has changed.

"Yes. Straight in the eye."

Her lips parted, but Leta changed her mind to speak. Looked away.

“Now I understand why you are the Head Auror,” she said slowly.

“Because I can kill with a wand without magic?”

Leta shook her head.

"Because you do not fluctuate."

Instead of answering, he intercepted her neck, pulled her to him. The sharp face of the pagan goddess approached the face of Theseus.

“Nox,” Leta whispered. The light turned off.

Lips, on which there was no trace of lipstick, pressed to his lips, and Theseus realized that it was equally and absolutely not enough for both of them.

***

 

They fell asleep in the morning and woke up, barely beginning to get light, to make love again in tacit consent. Silent, like a backwater, Leta listened to his ragged breathe, his moans and tried to keep in mind how they sounded, how the muscles tensed, when he rested on his arms, lifting himself, pushing deeper into her; she tried to memorize the relief of his lean, sinewy, bony and heavy body, the location of the scars on his back, dug her nails in it, wanting to leave her marks on him, even if short-lived, and she vowed to herself that she would never have anyone, never, and then the orgasm cleaned all the efforts, all the oaths and all the hooks to which the memories clung.

It became quite light. He had to get dressed, thank her and leave. So do all random lovers, whose names and faces aren't remembered.

Why does she think about random lovers? She should not think about them. For their sake, she never wanted to throw a bathrobe, to go downstairs, to make coffee and to fry toast without any wands...

Is it also random for Theseus? Maybe that's why everything turned out so easily?

Something must have changed in her face, because Theseus smiled, touched her lips with his fingers. The movements were relaxed, as if he didn’t care about the morning and he wasn’t going anywhere.

"I thought you like my brother."

"No, I always liked you."

He laughed, and Leta laughed hastily with him: it can always be said that tears came out of laughter.

"You are a shameless little liar!"

“Okay, okay...” She dried her eyes. “Newt and I kissed once, when we were fifteen, and after that I decided that he was too good to allow him to plunge.”

Theseus raised his eyebrows.

“So I’m not good enough?”

“No, but I thought you were smart enough not to plunge.”

"Double shameless little liar!"

Letha felt that her lips were trembling, and turned away, pulled the blanket to herself. Yes, a liar, the liar, covering all life the most terrible deception. Even her birth was just a result of deception.

Theseus' fingers slid along her back, circling the vertebrae...

"Did I hurt you?"

She shook her head, but did not dare to turn to face him.

“I have to repent of something, Mr. Scamander.”

In his silence, bewilderment was most clearly felt.

“I’m not a Muggle the confessor, Miss Lestrange, and I don’t give absolution.” He also changed the tone.

"Anyway, I have to repent." She exhaled. "Everything that happened... there, at the celebration... and here, in this bed... it happened, because my father wanted it so."

She did not turn around, and Theseus was silent. It was silent for a long time. Life passed, then another, the universe ended, and the silence all lasted and lasted.

Finally it stopped with the simplest:

"I do not understand."

She needed to hurry to explain everything, because too much time had already been lost. Otherwise, others will explain.

"He wanted to have influence on the new Head Auror. And this way, this way... this is proven. And now I repent."

At last, she had the courage to look back.

Theseus looked at her without condemnation or contempt - and, as far as she could judge, he was still not going anywhere. Her heart failed.

"I was so bad?"

It was such an unexpected question that Leta’s tears dried out.

"No!"

They exchanged a tense smiles.

"Well, you seduced me. What was the future plan?"

Leta opened her eyes, unable to believe that he took her revelations so calmly, that he simply dropped its as irrelevant. Maybe Theseus did not understand what she just confessed? No, he understood. Almighty Merlin, he interests in her and nothing else? Nothing at all?

"To get into your trust."

“Congratulations,” Theseus said seriously. He sat down, gently took Letu by the shoulders, and peace enveloped her. "You got."


	5. A spring in Suceava

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You see, we've constructed many new names, bc we haven't enough information. So please be kind if we've missed something in genealogy!

_“My dear Theseus,_

_I'm glad you finally received my letters and answered them. Now I can be calm, knowing you're alive._

_I answer your question immediately: YES! Yes, I'll marry you. You know, I agreed to be yours from the very beginning and it didn't matter in what capacity. I want to be yours forever, to give birth to you children, to live with you in our house with a flower garden... Perhaps it sounds unnecessarily romantic, but I really want to live with you happily ever after. I'll wait for your letter and prepare for the trip. I won't tell anyone, not even Newt. It's 1944 hours till the day of our wedding. What an interesting number, right? I'd like to know what'll happen to us in 1944. Hope, it'll be a house with a flower garden._

_Your family is fine. I visited Ma last week. She worries about you, but doesn't give a look and tries to cheer me up, although it should be the other way around. Sometimes it seems to me I'm not worthy to be her daughter-in-law. Sorry, I know you don't like when I say so and even think so, but now these thoughts come back much less often. I also don't get tired of thanking my father. You're right, the plan of your seduction was the best of his ideas, even though it flew to hell from the first moment._

_Newt corresponds with Ms. Goldstein secretly. As far as I understood, she's still not released from America, as he is from Britain, and the ban promises to stretch for an indefinite period... Nothing is known about his Muggle friend, as well as about her missing sister. I really hope that the girl is alive and G. didn't do anything with her._

_Please take care of yourself. Whatever mission you perform, whoever you seek, be careful promise me you will. Mentally I'm with you every minute._

_Forever yours,  
L._

_March 1928."_

**Encrypted**

_“Travers promised to think._

_I wanted to meet Dumbledore. Perhaps only he can convince T. of the need to help you. But their contradictions are so deep, besides T. is too angry at D. because of his refusal to help, so my idea remained an idea._

_I don’t know that Newt brought to D. from France, but this is something that occupies all their thoughts. They rummaged through the library at Hogwarts, and also asked for some books from our estate. I assumed that if they were looking for something dark, then it could only be found in the Malfoy library. I could help if asked, for your sake I'm even ready to visit the estate of Hephaestus Malfoy and still make friends with his nasty sister Ashera.”_

 

***

 

April in Suceava turned out to be too nasty. Then the snow was falling constantly, then the wet thaw rolled in and the roads turned into a slurping cold mash, then a piercing wind descended from the Carpathians into the valley with an avalanche and a thin ice crust covered the old pavements. Theseus did not remember that he was ever so cold — maybe during the war, but then everything was felt much sharper. But now it was possible to use plenty of warming spells.

He chose the squat, stocky Throne Fortress in Suceava for solitary thinking. Dilapidated, it stood abandoned for three centuries, and in its basements even a mouse would not find a seed; Theseus could not restrain himself in the evening to walk along the fortress walls, which was cut down with explosions. By this he throw food into the fire of rumors of time that had been decayed: about the ghost of the accursed Moldavian king Cantacuziena and about all the eating alive defenders of the city.

Leta’s letter lay in the inner pocket of his coat. After reading it for the first time, Theseus froze. Then he read it again, and again, and again. The written words splashed out on him from the paper like an acid, and burned through.

_"I want to be yours forever, to give birth to you children, to live with you in our house with a flower garden ..."_

To offer her to marry him once again was insane. Her agreement was even more insane. It seemed that both of them did not overcome the madness that seized them at the Christmas Ball.

 

***

 

_"My love,_

_your letter gave me a great joy - and at the same time reminded me of reality. And I want to remind you of it too._

_I wrote for good reason that you won’t gain anything and will lose a lot._

_I’m no longer the Head Auror. The circumstances after which I stopped of being it are known to the entire magical world. In a certain sense, I don’t even exist now: there is only Ditmar von Rötteln, who is trying to restore the family business by using the name of a distant ancestor against the backdrop of an economic upswing in a country that is still licking its wounds after a devastating war. Perhaps the case will burn out, and he’ll at least get rich to ensure you a comfortable life, but I don’t leave a hunch that there is no time for that. In addition, it is impossible to ignore that G. gets to me earlier than I do to him._

_You can sell my London apartment and buy a house, but for now it will be only yours. I can’t even guess when it will turn into ours, in a year, in ten years or never. I'm not sure that we’ll have children, because we’ll see each other rarely and I don’t know how long it’d last. I can’t even promise, as before, that you will never regret of being my wife. I want you to be aware of what you are going for, agreeing to become my wife in the current circumstances._

_T._

_April 1928 "_

**Encrypted**

_“In no case don’t mess with Malfoy! Even if me brother and D. would stand on their knees before you. If it connects you with the Malfoys, don't agree. I ask about this as the former Head Auror, who has certain information about their family. "_

 

***

 

Theseus’s legend helped him travel across Europe without attracting too much attention. The young Weimar Republic sought to make profitable political and economic alliances for itself, and the ancient name and presence of a castle, even if it was destroyed, gave certain privileges and status. Theseus moved around Romania, looking into its different corners, pursuing the gang of the Order of the Dragon. That in one town, then in another, famous and respected people disappeared. The Romanian secret police were knocked down and more disturbed the investigation than helped.

Each time, Theseus was a step behind. He had the feeling that either he was somewhere calculating, or that Flashworthy had a really sharp instinct and was leaving the chase.

In early May, Theseus thought that the chase was over. A group of unidentified individuals was spotted in a small village in the west-central part of Suceava. The local population was not very fond of strangers, and rumors that they are settled in one of the abandoned houses on the outskirts quickly spread out. The people were on their guard.

 

***

_“You know what, Theseus Scamander..._

_After receiving your letter, I confess, for a while I was terribly angry at you. I smashed the Greek statuette of Leta the Oceanid that you gave me into a thousand small pieces and shed so many tears over it that it would be enough for two rivers of oblivion, and then I devoted three days to its restoration... I had to postpone the answer, because I was ready to write irreparable sharpnesses, while_

_I don’t want anything to worry you beyond what is already concerned, and I don’t want to live in remorse of conscience until the end of my days. I worry about you and your mission and I want it to end safely._

_Sorry, but I disagree with you, especially that we both fell out of reality. In the hospital, after I woke up alone, and you left, leaving only a farewell letter, I fully realized how cruel reality can be. I was supposed to be your wife, and I was a straw widow. The news of the appearance of Credence rekindled my father’s hope of the return of his beloved son, but his dreams crumbled to dust, and he suffered a cruel disappointment. We would unite with our disappointments, but we drifted away even more. I’m very glad that I spent that time in the hospital and didn’t see his fury. It's because of me, you and I ended up where we are._

_The reality is that we can’t see each other for a very long time, I know this, I realize it, and therefore I’m waiting for our next meeting so much._

_You write that I will not gain anything by becoming your wife. That’s NOT true. You’ll be mine completely, that's enough. I’ve been too long to agree to be your wife. Not always, I could explain to you the reasons for my refusals, but having accepted your offer, I won’t back down from it. Not the sixth of June, so the seventh of August, not this year, so next, but we get married._

_Besides, if you marry me, you won’t get anything either. My father threatened that he’d deprive me of the inheritance if I didn’t give up the idea of marrying you. Now I’m connected with Corvus IV Lestrange only by my last name, which I’ll gladly and proudly exchange with Scamander. Although von Rötteln sounds good too. Don’t worry, I still have part of the inheritance of the mother, on which my father didn’t have time to lay hands. I'm not poor, but also I’m not rich at all._

_I’d never sell your apartment, don’t even talk about it. We’ve experienced so much in it, it's like selling memories. She’ll wait for your return, as I do._

_And the last. I really want to give birth to you children, but if it doesn’t work out, then I think we can survive it. In the end, Newt’ll be able to marry his American woman, and we’ll nurse nephews and nieces, if we’re not lucky - but I hope that we’re lucky._

_I love you and wait for the next letter.  
Your L._

_May 1928."_

 

_"My dearest Leta,_

_I don’t know how about you, but I wouldn’t ever be more lucky than knowing you love me and agree to tolerate me until death separates us (hope, at least fifty years later)._

_You have nothing to blame yourself for. I’ve said this many times and will say as much as needed. It's not your fault that your father, forgive me, is just a bastard. If it were possible to prove the use of the Imperius spell, I would have planted him in Azkaban for life, but alas, your mother died, and he got off with just a tarnished reputation. I can’t imagine how and why he deserved such an angel like you as a daughter._

_You and I ended up where we are, through my fault, not yours. I was responsible for the operation in Paris, and I already told you: this is my miscalculation that civilians were involved in it, who also had to cover my failure. If I were with you when you found your family tree, maybe all this could have been prevented. In any case, everything that happened in Paris can neither be forgotten, nor corrected, nor smoothed over. I’m lucky that you have enough generosity not to remember this._

_I love your generosity as much as your stubbornness. I hope you won’t regret of your decision to marry me. One way or another, you will have a family. Ma adores you, Newt will support you, if something happens to me. Shhh. I know what you say. I'll be careful, I promised you. I must keep at least one promise that I gave you!_

_I’ll be waiting for you in Lörrach, Baden, in early June. I’ll leave for you a letter with the address of the hotel. We get married and arrange a honeymoon. You'll like it. Our wedding is on June 6, remember!_

_Yours,  
T._

_May 1928_

_P.S. Don’t reply for this letter. Tell me everything when we meet. The Lord Almighty and Merlin Our Patron, I love you, Leta Lestrange, and nothing will ever change that. "_

 

***

 

A harsh fate almost played a terrible joke with Theseus. He searched for the gang of Flatworth, tracked her down, but they themselves went out on him. Theseus was about to return to Suceava when he was ambushed, but the ambush wasn’t prepared for him - for a local banker who refused to join the nationalist party and make substantial contributions.

Shots shook a calm, lazy evening. From his observation post on the fortress wall, Theseus instinctively rushed onto the road leading from the city from which they thundered.

The car in which the banker was driving, pulled off the curb and rolled over; Theseus did not even have time to think about whether there are any living in it: a bright flash rushed straight at him. He fought off her, dived into the shadows, blessing the habit of wearing the switching charms, otherwise attempts to track down Grindelwald could be buried. Here, fortunately, was not Paris, the reserve of the Unforgivable of the attackers was primitive.

Most, realizing that the plan had failed, abandoned the unattended goal and apparated, and here Theseus noticed that Muggles were running from the crime scene. He pursued them to the territory of the monastery on the outskirts of the village and overtook at the gates of the boarded up temple. Once it was a beautiful building painted inside and outside the building belonging to the local Orthodox diocese. Theseus heard that the paintings were golden, but the time and works of less talented "artists" almost destroyed the ancient beauty.

Characteristic claps prompted him that those who had fled also moved out, which means that magicians were waiting for them here. Theseus listened to the dead silence and then easily broke the deadbolt on the cracked doors. From within, there was a breath of mold and dust. All his feelings were sharpened. He sent his wand forward, checking for the presence of other people, but realized that he was alone - or almost alone, and it was not for nothing that silence seemed to him dead: on the floor, right under the dome, in a circle of dim moonlight that had penetrated broken windows lies a corps. Learning it was not difficult...

The secret police searched the area the next morning. Theseus chose to disappear as soon as he looked at the found body. He regretted very much that he could not make a magic picture. The right decision was to leave the territory of Romania.

Dietmar von Rötteln finished his business in Bucharest, having received several lucrative orders, and crossed the Romanian-Hungarian border in mid-May 1928.

 

***

 

_"Travers,_

_I’m writing personally, because I consider it more correct._

_I'm afraid, in the heat of the moment I took the wrong mark, and an independent evaluation of a cold head is what I need now._

_Julius Flatworthy is dead. He was killed on the outskirts of Vatra Moldovetsi in Romania, allegedly by an unforgivable spell. I found his body on the floor of the church Moldovita. It was disfigured and a symbol was cut out on the chest: an equilateral triangle with a bisector, in the center of which a circle is inscribed. I attached a picture, but you probably recognized it by the description. We both know whose symbol this sign is. Whoever the assassin is, he serves Grindelwald - and, I hope, he didn’t consider me in the dark. I hear what you think about it, even through fifteen hundred miles. Invite the new Head Auror to give proper attention to the preparation of secret agents._

_The Order of the Dragon has disappeared from my sight, maybe they have collapsed, as the leader is dead. I lost the lead, but not the appetite. Maybe you throw me a new one?_

_T.S._

_May 1928. "_


	6. June, the Sixth

On May 29, 1928, Miss L. Kama began a journey to the mainland from London, the Victoria Station, in a first-class compartment of a train heading to Dover. A few hours later, she took her place on the steamer sailing to Ostend, where she went to Brussels by train. From the capital of Belgium, Miss L. Kama went to Germany. She crossed the border safely and got to Koln, where she stopped for day to admire the majestic Gothic cathedral, its air arches and tall columns pointing to heaven, and then went by train to the highlands of Baden land through Stuttgart and Freiburg. The idyllic meadows, in which languid rivers flowed, were replaced by neatly trimmed hedges, behind which colorful houses were hidden; next to the wooded hills, rocky ridge mountains grew out of the ground on both sides of the railway track, along which broad streams flowed in a moist veil. Miss L. Kama put her head on the back of the seat, looked out the window and counted the hours till her aim. Some travel companions were talkative, some were self-absorbed, some tried to grab her attention, some considered her skin too dark. One more hour less, Miss L. Kama told herself and repeated simple German phrases that would allow her to know the way without any difficulty again and again...

Coming off the train on a clear June afternoon, Leta headed towards the post office of the city of Lörrach, where the letter has already awaited her. Smiling, Leta read it and went to the address indicated. The hotel was located in a three-storey half-timbered house, where the one for whom she had come was waiting.

Calling herself the name von Rötteln, Leta went up the old stairs. The wooden steps creaked under her steps. Maybe they squeaked intentionally so that her appearance did not go unnoticed? Leta smiled at this thought and opened the door with a deep sigh.

Theseus was standing at the window, in profile, looking intently at something, and Leta had a few seconds to examine him.

She recognized him and did not recognize him at the same time. Theseus became leaner after he quit his desk job, and seemed higher. Civilian clothes sat on him even better than before, probably, it should sit well on all military... He cut his hair short, his features became clearer, and all almost ten years the difference in age was more obvious. The lush red head made him younger, thought Leta, and her heart ached. Only a large, haughtily closed mouth was absolutely recognizable, although Leta knew best of all that it was so haughty to close because of a little irregular bite, and this becomes imperceptible when Theseus smiles...

Not taking her eyes off him, Leta sat down a bit to put the bag on the floor.

“Hi,” she said and did not recognize her own voice.

Theseus turned around, his gaze — also unfamiliar, tenacious, catching all the details on the move, sharp as a bladed razor — slashed down at her and, in the blink of an eye, Leta felt naked, covered with air just surprisingly warm for early summer. If Theseus came up, pulled off her light dress, undershirt, and silk underwear with lace, she would not feel so naked.

“Hi,” he finally said. As if he remembered how to answer.

I received your letter, Leta wanted to say – and said nothing.

She stood in front of him, feeling naked, while his gaze, unfamiliar, heavy and burning, slid right over her body, and all her nerve endings sharpened, stinging under the skin from crown to toes.

A shiver ran through her, a sweet-sweet cramp, and Leta swayed on her heels. This has not happened to her for a long time.

“Well?” she called, revealing a hug...

Theseus covered the distance in two steps – in one and a half.

Leta found herself in his arms, threw back her head, put her face under his kisses, then her neck, threw her arms around his shoulders. Merlin, Merlin, how tall he is, it’s even dizzy! When Theseus lifted her dress, put his palms on her hips between the lace edge of the linen and the lace edge of the stockings, Leta felt a piercing tremor. Theseus tore her off the floor, she wrapped her legs around his waist immediately, then pulled her up so that it was more convenient to kiss, run her fingers in insultingly short, barely curly hair at the back of the head. She put her toe on the heel of another, threw it on the floor. The fall was softened by Tesey's lightweight jacket. She didn’t have time to throw off the second shoe, then she forgot about it. They breathed loudly, kissed, fussily — and useless — tried to undress each other. To do this, it was worth it at least for an instant to unstick, focus on buttons, hooks and "lightning" instead of bodies, tongues, hair, and smells. Clothing seams cracked dangerous. A new wave of tremor rolled up — so strong that Leta bitten Theseus’s lower lip unconsciously. His lean torso, thighs, hard cock — everything felt so painfully distinct, so painfully close; do something at least, Leta begged mentally, do something...

They have fallen finally —on the bed by miracle, not on the floor; then returned to the clumsy, as in a fever, attempts to undress each other, to withdraw from each other anything, just to be faster; finally wove up, being half-dressed, and Leta made a low, hungry moan, a bit painful — they hadn’t made love for so long, the body lost the habit quickly, too quickly. Although this tumultuous mating full of moans was nothing like love. Leta dug her nails at Theseus’ back: her fingers slipped on the fabric, she dug in again until the shirt was wet from sweat along the spine, and the grip was not better. He cupped her face — under his jaw, his thumb rested on his right cheek, his forefinger lay on his left, three more — on his neck, as if Theseus wanted Leta not to look away, and she looked feeling drunk. His face tense reddened, then he leaned closer, and she pressed her lips to his cheek.

“More,” she demanded hoarsely, barely opening her teeth. “More.”

And she wrapped her legs tighter, pushed him toward her, as if her whole body didn’t even shake unrestrained blows in the depths, as if her whole body was not bursting with delight from the frantic fight, which they indulged in, until they had came together. The orgasm was like an abyss: the past months, with their bitterness, indignation, sadness and regret, have sunk into it, and Leta still could not loosen her arms, although both of them has already remembered how to breathe.

Theseus stirred, leaned on his elbow, intending to lie down next to her, and Leta reached out after him and bit his ear.

“No, no, lie down,” she muttered in protest. “Lie, please.”

He nodded silently and kissed her neck.

“It's really you,” Leta said and laughed, because there was nothing more stupid to say.

His shoulders and chest fluttered in a silent chuckle. Theseus raised his head. Up close, he was young again.

“The heel,” he said, and laughed.

Leta swore like a Muggle one.

“Sorry! Oh, forgive me, please forgive me.”

Theseus shook his head. He was still laughing.

“It is unlikely that someone will see bruises on my ass, except you.”

Leta burst out and finally forced herself to unclasp her hands, ran her fingers over his cheeks, over his forehead, over his long nose. It was the very beginning of summer, cheeky Irish freckles poured out brighter. Once she tried to count them. Now she can try again...

Theseus closed his eyes, kissed her palm. Now she has melted, exhausted through languor, which made her soft as wax. She thought she was smiling. When Theseus started kissing her temples, it turned out not.

“What is it, my dear. What is it. I missed you,” he whispered softly. “I was waiting you. Well, what is it...”

 

***

Early in the morning, Leta was awakened by slow kisses, touches of gentle hands. Everything that happened on the eve merged into a series of images in which there was passion, conversations, passion again and so on in a circle, until they both exhausted and fell asleep, hugging so tightly, if they wanted to swim into each other.

“Time to get up?” She stretched languidly, putting herself under wide palms, sighed, when warm fingers stroked her belly and slid lower.

“Not yet,” said Theseus quietly. His shadow obscured the dawn that had barely appeared beyond the curtains.

“Then let's not hurry,” mumbled Leta, arching under his palm.

***

“I have a gift,” with his hands behind his back, Theseus squatted down before Leta. She put down her comb and looked down at her fiancé — not for the first time in the last 24 hours.

“I like gifts.” Leta flashed her eyes. “Especially your gifts...”

It was a small wooden box in his hands. There are no ribbons, flowers, bright ribbons, like annoying suitors usually decorate their gifts — only the strict form of an expensive iron tree, quite in the style of her beloved former auror. The box seemed not very heavy, and, opening it, Leta looked at Theseus with bewilderment.

“This is a pistol,” he explained. “Belgian Browning, M1906 model. Perfect for self-defense in your gentle hands: small, light, and a recoil is not hard...”

“Self defense?” Leta considered a strange metal object, not understanding how it could be used for defending. “You think I might be in danger?”

Theseus slightly frowned.

“I hope nothing threatens you.” His voice became hard. “But it is better to be safe. Moreover, it will be useful for you to get acquainted with Muggle weapons. Just in case. So I'd be calmer.”

“When will you teach me how to use it?” with some distrust, Leta ran her finger along the handle, touched a curved mechanical piece that looked like a hook, and closed the box.

“When you want to, but only after the ceremony,” Theseus raised himself and kissed her, wanting to erase a watchful expression. “It is time. We do not want to be late.”

“Not at all!”

When they went down to the dining room, the breakfast was waiting for them on the table. They were the earliest birds, but no one gave a look that surprised: the hostess left for them milk, generous cuts of cheese, boiled sausages and salted pretzel with butter, wholemeal rye buns, and strong coffee was still steaming, as if it was dzhevzu removed from the stove no more than a minute ago — maybe it was right so.

“Merlin,” muttered Leta, glancing cautiously at the feast, “that's enough to feed the army!”

“This is Germany,” said Theseus philosophically and bit his teeth into a smoked ham sandwich. “It is impossible to eat and not being full. And then,” he glanced sideways at Leta, “I thought I did everything to make your appetite grow...”

Leta laughed.

“My appetite grows at the sight of how you eat!”

They didn’t talk much more, just looked at each other and smiled, touching each time they passed plates to each other. There was tension around them that could not be assessed correctly at such an early hour: the tension of waiting. They waited so long for the upcoming moment. So many things had to and must be overcome, what seemed to be one wrong gesture — and emotions would overwhelm the whole world.

“Haben Sie die Flitterwochen, Herr Rötteln¹?” — the hostess, a respectable elderly lady in an old-fashioned cap, asked benevolently while they were checking out of the hotel.

“Ja²,” Theseus nodded.

 

***

They left the hotel and headed towards the station. Reaching a few blocks before the station, they turned into a small alley and moved into the magical part of the city. The same half-timbered multi-colored houses were the neighbors to the stone ones, from the roofs of which alien gargoyles vigilantly peered. People here were significantly less, and maybe they all hid behind a wall of brickwork, created, probably, in the days of the Romans.

“Everyone stares at me!” Leta made scary eyes.

“Who else should they stare at?”

On 6 June, the marriage of Theseus Scamander and Leta Lestrange was held at the town hall of Lorrach. The marriage license that was obtained in Britain and a sufficient number of galleons helped the master of ceremonies not only to marry a bride and a groom, but also to speed up the issuance of the certificate. The bride was in a simple white dress, decorated with freshwater pearls on the collar, with white shoes of the same color and a light hat with a veil. She held a bunch of colorful forget-me-nots in her hands. The groom’s dress was not so elegance, only the boutonniere indicated his festivity. The city judge signed for the witness at the wedding himself.

They slipped out into the street, feeling like schoolchildren, whose mischief was entirely successful. They walk for a while in the town square, trying to calm down and enjoy the first moments of their marriage. The day was sunny. There was no one to catch the bride's bouquet, so Leta simply gave it to the very first young girl they met met who seemed to be unmarried.

“We have to go,” Theseus squeezed his wife’s hand tightly.

“Where?” Leta smiled, squinting from the bright sun.

“It’s a surprise. I promised you’ll like it.”

They apparated to the foot of the hill, which Leta had spotted some time ago: densely covered with forest, it’s towered outside the city, and on its summit were the majestic ruins of a castle with a donjon and several surviving corner towers.

“Protective spells. Therefore it is impossible to apparate closer,” Theseus explained. Leta thought she had never seen him so truly contented and relaxed. “We'll have a little walk.”

The closer they got, the more clearly Leta realized that the ruins were only an appearance. Yes, the castle was thoroughly destroyed by time and a bad weather, its walls seemed to cry for help, they looked so wretched, but one tower seemed to be rebuilt again, and it was to Theseus who went to it. They crossed the line of defense and overcame the anti-apparition barrier. Leta felt a slight tingling in her entire body, as if a weak static discharge rolled through it.

“What kind of place is it?” she asked, for some reason in a whisper.

“This is Rötteln Castle, my wife.” Theseus announced. “A “family” lock of your newly-made husband”.

“How secretive you have been all this time!”

“I also have vineyards,” Theseus teased.

“And he told me that I would not gain anything with such a husband!” Leta rolled her eyes. “Judging by the number of barriers, your “family” castle is almost the most protected place of all that I have seen.”

“Yes, the protections quite good, and I added something from myself. There is a stronger bastion here than other ministries,” there was not a hint of boasting or pride in Theseus’s voice. “But worse than educational institutions.”

“But it is so close to muggles... How did you manage?”

“Oh, we carefully prepared and kept everything secret for a long time.” Theseus put his finger to his lips, and Leta nodded knowingly. “In my opinion, even our Minister is not aware, at least according to Trevers... We partially rebuilt the walls and re-erected the tower, cast some spells, because the muggles began to notice what could not be noticed.”

“Can someone else come here?”

Theseus shook his head.

“No one can go inside the barrier unnoticed. Merlin himself will not hurt us, and now, my wife...” Theseus grabbed Leta in his arms and carried her to the tower.

“What are you doing?” She laughed, hugging his neck.

“I pay tribute to centuries-old traditions!” Theseus took her over the threshold and put on the floor. “Welcome to your property, Frau von Rötteln... Mrs. Scamander.”

“I like the last one more.” Leta stood up on tiptoes to kiss him again. “Show me everything here ... everything that can be shown, of course.”

“For this you are here. Let's go.”

He showed her everything: from the foundation to the roof and did not miss, it seemed, a single stone — as if he wanted Leta to remember how it all worked out. Just in case. He never said this out loud, but Leta was feeling by the whole her skin, for which such a detailed excursion. Once an auror is forever an auror.

It was not a happy idea, and Leta took it out of her head.

The central hall once for certain amazed with its size and was covered with the coats of arms of von Retteln. The stained glass windows in the Gothic windows had long been replaced by ordinary glass, the gaps punched in the walls were again sealed with stone and mortar, almost indistinguishable from the neighboring ones. Then the kitchen: not very big, but capable of feeding at the same time a whole headquarters of hungry Aurors, located in the basement with a good smoke draft and a ventilation pipe through which fresh air always flowed. The ceilings separating the floors were reassembled, it even seemed to Leta that the smell of fresh wood still lingers in the air. Upstairs there was a stone staircase with modern railings. On the second floor there were bedrooms, on the third — a working area with a library. A quick glance was enough to appreciate the antiquity of manuscripts stored on the shelves.

“This tower inside is bigger than outside,” Leta guessed.

“Right.”

She disenchanted her bag in the bedroom, which Theseus pointed to, and looked out of the window into which the rectangular loop-hole was altered. From a height, Lorrach seemed as tiny as a button; Leta would easily fit it all in her palm.

“The fact that I am here will not prevent protection? I do not belong to the Aurors. Isn't it dangerous to tell me about the castle's whereabouts?”

“No. What is the danger in trusting your wife?” Theseus embraced her from the back, rested his chin on the top of his head. “I brought you here, and you will not be able to bring anyone here without my consent, only to come by yourself when it’s needed. This is also part of the protection.”

“Sly you have everything arranged.” Leta turned slightly and rubbed her cheek against his shoulder. “Well. what's the plan?”

“To make love.” Theseus laughed. “But a little later. There is a small river here, I can teach you how to fish... if I remember how.”

“And to shoot from this your... pistol?”

“And this, too, if you want.”

“Of course!”

 

***

“The river is called Wiese,” Theseus explained as they descended the hill along paths winding between coniferous trees. Under the feet, the years were softly crunching pine needles dumped last season. “Be careful, my love, do not stumble. Give me your hand... Here, on the flat part, Wiese is calm, lazy and small, in the summer you can safely wade. Honestly, I am not sure that there is fish in it, but we just have to try our luck!”

They chose a small clearing on the river bank as an improvised shooting range. Theseus surrounded it with drowning charms and installed on a flat land several stones and sawed pieces of wood, on which he placed various rubbish found in the castle: empty bottles and old jugs. The river glittered enticingly, curving behind a loose wall of trees.

“Hold tight.” He repeatedly showed Leta how to stand, to hold a pistol, to remove it from the fuse, to coax the trigger, to aim and to shoot. “Yes, that’s right. Don’t worry, it will be unpleasant at first, then you will get used to it. Take care of your ears. Now push.”

There was a shot, then a second one. Leta missed the first time, but she cocked the trigger again and again until she shot the entire clip. Theseus showed her how to properly charge the pistol/ and explained about cleaning, and reminded of the danger. A pistol is for a self-defense, but not for attack.

They trained again and again. Leta tied her head with a handkerchief in the manner of a turban to protect herself from the sun and prevent hair from becoming tousled. Each time the shot was getting better, the stand — more reliably, the fright from the loud bang went, the breathing level off.

“Enough. I'm tired,” Leta announced and set the Browning on the fuse, then put it back into the box and sat on the ground and. Then she pulled off her head scarf and began to fan herself.

“You know,” Theseus sat down beside her and put a naughty strand behind her ear, “I never noticed how excitingly beautiful a woman with a weapon can be...”

“Yes? What do you mean, Theseus Scamander?” She turned around, looked at him for a while, and then suddenly pushed and dropped on his back, and sat down above.

“I’m sure you know Leta Scamander,” he sneaked his hands under the dress, stroked her hips, not taking his eyes off his wife’s face.

“I'm sure that yes,” Leta leaned over to kiss him, fingering the belt of his trousers with her fingers, and almost purred into his ear: “We need a disillusion spell, Theseus...”

Then they fished together — there was a fish in Wiese, very small, but stupid: it was easy on the bait. They fried fish right there on the bank along with vegetables, impaled on iron skewers. Theseus showed how to properly clean the baked vegetables not burning yourself, and kissed Leta’s tender fingers to soften the burns. They fed each other pieces of fish and drank wine, kissed for a long time lying on the grass, until evening came down. German sunsets almost did not differ from the British, if you leave London inland, said Leta, and laid next to her husband on the grass, looking at the stars and feeling completely happy.

“It's time to go to the castle,” Theseus spat out a blade of grass, collected garbage and fragments of dishes in a few spells, erased all traces of their stay on the shore. “A dew has dropped out, it gets cold.”

“I don’t want to go anywhere,” Leta resisted humorously.

“Well, Mrs. Scamander, you are not going anywhere,” Theseus handed her a casket with a pistol, grabbed Leta in his arms and carried her to the castle.

“Theseus! What are you doing?” Leta laughed and buried her nose in his shoulder.

“What you mean what? I release your legs from work. You did not want to go — so you are not going.” He laughed too. Leta could not remember the last time he laughed so much. “And still follow the centuries-old tradition...”

“And how many more traditions do you intend to observe?”

“Anything I can.” He carried her in his arms to the bedroom and lowered her to the bed. “Lie here, I'll do everything myself.”

She rolled onto her side, cupped her temple with her fist, and froze. Dark impenetrable eyes followed Theseus with interest, while he lit the lamps on the fireplace, decorated with tiled faience tiles, and she accompanied each his movement, did not taking her eyes off for a second. It seemed Leta did not even blink once.

“Do you hunt me?” Theseus squinted. Leta smiled: between large, similar, ripe berries of the lips briefly flashed a strip of teeth.

“I'm bored here without you,” she almost purred, patting her hand on the bed next to her. “Come to me.“ And she moved one bare foot in the air, then the other. “See? I care about you, beloved spouse!”

He laughed, lit the last lamp and went to the bed. Leta fell on her back gently and weightlessly, inviting and still not taking her eyes off him. She smelled of river, bonfire and wet grass, the dress got wet and was hopelessly ruined.

Theseus stripped her not for the first time, but this was something of the rite. Summer still did not look away — now from his hands, unbuttoning, unleashing, spreading, button by button, tape by tape; she bent, helping to pull off her clothes. The light laid on her shoulder, elbow, hip, knee; everything else melted away in soft scattered shadows. Theseus thought again of the pagan tribes from the continent, where her mother was from, and of the master artists of which cut out their goddesses from precious black wood or cast bronze and applied the ritual scars on their bodies and faces.

Leta had her own scars: several stripes on her hands, flattened not completely by healers, and a pale chain of links tied to points, resembling an actinia family, sprawled on the left side. Theseus won't forget till death how her mantle and dress were on fire, and Leta in the blink of an eye turned into an icy blue torch. It is a miracle that she did not die on the spot. It is a miracle that she did not die in his arms on the way to the hospital, that would be even worse. It is a miracle she was here now. So many wonders for them two. Undressing her, Theseus knelt before the bed and now rubbed his nose against the uneven protruding burn marks, touched with his lips. Leta put a palm on the back of his head. This gesture was full of gratitude.

And from her gilded of the light skin went warm, as if from a fireplace.

“Do you ever get cold?” whispered Theseus.

“When you're not here with me,” Leta answered seriously.

They met looks. Theseus would ask forgiveness if he knew the right words.

“Good,” he said instead. “It means it's warm for you now.”

Leta smiled. Her eyes were burning.

“I feel hot!”

He pressed his lips to the burns again, kissed them, until the rough chain was again the smooth skin on the tightened abdomen.

Leta stiffened instinctively at the first touch, of the sensation which did not smear with the scars, then bent to him, sighed almost silently when the kisses shifted lower.

It was not like her usual hungry moans. Just languishing and calling sigh.

“Yes,” she whispered. The fingers on the neck of Theseus quivered. “Yes.”

The new “yes” has already seemed like a moan. As for the heat, she was not joking: her skin really became barely perceptibly wet. Nothing what had happening between them in bed was new, but everything was different. Leta grabbed Theseus' hair, turned his head and moaned more and more. Her was shooked with sobs while he caressed her, took her with his tongue; then she was shooked with stifled moans, then — with rare convulsive sighs accompanying orgasmic cramps, then there was a silence in which he greedily watched Letta licking her bitten wrist.

Their eyes met again. He doubted that Leta did see: such a missing, clouded look it was.

“Theseus,” she called out, and a shudder blew through him: a voice that was so pleading and submissive, so interior, coming from such depths that, probably, she did not even suspect herself. Her eyes opened wide, and it was as if darkness had opened in front of him. “Theseus...”

She reached for him, put her fingers to his lips when he wanted to answer; silence and mystery, eternal companions, guessed Theseus, sometimes love needs them so much, and Leta silently nodded, as if reading his thoughts.

She undressed him in silence, and this also seemed like a rite; her dark eyes glittered wetly from under her eyelashes, then Leta leaned toward him, brushing his hair with her fingers.

“You're turning gray,” she whispered.

“So begins old age,” he whispered aside.

“Theseus...”

She had never said his name like that before. Leta laid back again softly, spreading her dark knees, and made a long moan, full of bliss, feeling him inside, responding with gentle wiggle of her hips to smooth jolts that became stronger and deeper. He felt her knees and lower legs gliding along his body, Leta bent to take his blows deeper, to surrender herself more fully, and sighed, balancing between peace and delight. She threw back her head when the sighs turned into cries, and Theseus leaned over to kiss her neck. Leta clutched at his shoulder with her fingers, crushing a blanket in her fist, unconsciously covering her face with her palm, as if she could no longer stand either a glance or a kiss. She came, but her arms did not weaken, on the contrary, they became greedy, thirsty. Theseus rolled over on his back, Leta now was on top and rested her narrow palms on his chest, swayed over him; on the chiseled waist, the family of anemones seemed to come alive, trembling with tentacles, striving to spill lower with each movement, until — very soon — the orgasm covered both of them, and Leta, sobbing hard, fell on his chest, again and again blindly stroking his face and she whispered “yes” between her and his moans until they both calmed down.

***

¹ “Do you have a honeymoon, Mr. Rötteln?”  
² “Yes.”


End file.
